Books With Twists

My husband doesn't touch me on our wedding night. He claims he's too tired and asks me to wait. Then, he sneaks into the basement in the wee hours of each night. Whenever he returns, he needs to shower to wash away an indescribable smell. I ask him what he does down there, and he tells me he works out. Why would anyone work out in the middle of the night? I can't take it anymore. One night, I decide to sneak into the basement to see what's going on down there. He chases after me and grabs my pajamas, roaring, "Come back up here! I'll divorce you if you step foot down there!"

Every day, my son and husband finish all the house chores before I even get home. But only because they're bringing my husband's first love, Sally Sullivan, back for Thanksgiving, I pour boiling water on my son's face. I also kick both my son and husband out when it's 104°F outside. Desperate to save our son, my husband sprawls across the front porch, begging me to open the door. "Wanda, open the door! We need to save our son! I only invited Sally over because she saved you once back then. I didn't mean anything else by it!" "Mom, it hurts!" my son cries. "Mom, can't you kiss me? Mom…" Meanwhile, I'm slouching on the couch, snacking away as I watch TV. In the end, my husband can't take it anymore and brings me to the Bad Mom Court for trial. The moment my memories are extracted, the entire court bursts into tears.

Five years had gone by since my death. The cops called my mom and told her they got news about me. My mother and brother marched to my grandmother's home and kicked her door down. "Where's Charlie? That shameless woman has been hiding from us far too long. Her brother needs her cornea, and she's giving it to him!" "Charlie's dead," said my grandmother, sobbing. My mother sneered. "As if. The cops called us. They said they had her news. Hand her over or get out of the house, you hag." My grandmother looked at her daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she took my photo out. "I wonder if you've ever regretted saving your brother, Charlie."

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

I always thought my boyfriend came from a poor family. One day, I saw him drink a bottle of wine worth 100,000 while tipping the waiter over 1,000. The watch he gave away without a second thought was worth millions. Yet, his gift for my birthday was a dirt-cheap trinket. He claimed it was a test to make sure I was not a gold digger. Later on, I proved that I was not a gold digger. That was when he begged and pleaded for me to accept his extravagant gift.

On the one-year anniversary of the company's public listing, my wife, Susan Lynn, publicly announced that she was gifting a supercar worth millions of dollars to her childhood friend, Charles Baker. Charles, with his arm around her shoulder, raised his glass and said, "Thank you, Susan. Here's a toast to our friendship!" I let out a derisive laugh and walked away. Susan, feeling upset, chased after me, shouting, "Angus, what's your problem? What's wrong with me giving the top salesperson a supercar? You're just a useless waste of space, and you still dare to throw a tantrum!"

I never thought a dance could bring me disaster Tonight, at the annual Moon Goddess Festival, my brother, the heir of the Silver Moon pack, Aiden, and I performed a dance together. We won a lot of applause. Aiden made me the star of the festival. Unexpectedly, after the dance, Aiden's mate came with a group of sorority members to bully me. "How dare you flirt with Aiden? Omega! "Break her legs!" “No!No!No! I am Aiden’s sister!” I tried to explain, but they gagged me. I struggled desperately, but it only provoked an even more brutal beating. "If she's so horny, strip her naked and throw her into the boys' restroom," Bella said, standing nearby with her arms crossed. Tears of despair streamed down my face. Just then, Aiden arrived. "I'll make every one of you pay for this!" he roared.

My parents used the compensation money from my sister's car accident to buy a four-room house, but they only let me stay in the bathroom. My twin brothers, who were not even a year old, each had their own room. When the twins grew up, they got into a car accident. One of them needed a corneal transplant, the other needed a heart. My parents begged me to donate and save them. When I tried to escape, they betrayed me. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the time just after my sister's death. I sought justice for my sister and myself, and made my parents pay for what they had done.

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.

Yung bata na iniligtas ko noong maliliit pa kami ay lumaking isang possessive at obsessive na CEO. Sampung taon niya akong kinontrol, gamit ang sakit ng lola ko bilang pang-blackmail para pilitin akong magpakasal sa kanya. Sinubukan niyang gawin ang lahat para makuha ang loob ko—kahit anong paraan, ginawa niya,pero hindi ko siya kailanman minahal. Dahil sa sobrang galit, nakahanap siya ng babaeng halos kamukha ko para pumalit sa akin. Ipinagmalaki nila ang relasyon nila sa harap ng lahat, at may mga bulung-bulungan na natagpuan na raw ng CEO ang tunay niyang pag-ibig. Pero isang araw, dumating ang babaeng iyon sa villa kasama ang mga alipores niya, gamit ang atensyon at pagmamahal ng CEO bilang lakas ng loob. Isa-isa niyang binali ang mga daliri ko, sinugatan ang mukha ko gamit ang utility knife, at inalis ang damit ko para ipahiya ako. “Kahit nagparetoke ka pa para magmukhang ako, palalagpasin ko na ‘yun. Pero natuto ka pang magpinta nang kagaya ko? Grabe kang mag-aral! Tignan natin kung paano ka makakaakit ng mga lalaki ngayon!” Habang duguan na ako at halos mawalan ng malay, sa wakas dumating ‘yung obsessive na CEO. Hinila ako ng babae sa harapan niya at mayabang na nagsumbong, “Honey, itong babaeng ‘to ay nagtatago rito sa villa, tinatangkang akitin ka. Siniguro kong hindi siya magtatagumpay!”